


a date is just a middle eastern fruit

by AppleJuiz



Series: the L in Love stands for Loser [4]
Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, F/M, First Dates, Fluff, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 01:34:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11795691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppleJuiz/pseuds/AppleJuiz
Summary: “No, it's just… I dunno, Michelle and I don't really do… dates, I guess,” he explains, shrugging. Tony's eyebrows furrow.“You don't go on dates,” he repeats. “With your girlfriend. And you're sure you're dating this girl?”He's pretty sure. “We went to a party together once,” he offers.“You don't think that's a little weird?” Tony asks.Well… Yeah, it's weird, unconventional, but Michelle is weird and he loves her.***5 times Peter and Michelle don't go on a date and one time they do.





	a date is just a middle eastern fruit

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Thanks so much again for all the feedback this series has been getting so far! I'm really loving writing these fics so it's really relieving that other people enjoy them as well. Anyway I hope you enjoy this one too and let me know what you think and anything else you want to see.

Peter has never been to Flash’s house before for a multitude of obvious reasons. So he's not entirely sure what he's doing in the doorway on a Friday night for a party. It’s big and shiny and crowded with people he’s seen briefly in the halls once or twice but never really talked to and loud with obnoxious music. 

“Come on,” Michelle says, grabbing his hand like it’s nothing and tugging him intothe crowd.

He follows, squeezing her hand so they don’t get separated. They weave their way through the foyer and the hallway, also big and shiny, and end up in the kitchen.

She shoves two bags of chips and a jar of salsa at him which he manages to catch and balance in his free hand, thank God for superpowers. She keeps moving, snags a six pack of wine coolers from the counter and continues meandering through the rooms like she owns the place.

They pass by the main living room, a whole clump of people and huge stacks of speakers, and end up in a slightly quieter part of the house. Michelle kicks open the door to a guest bedroom where a couple is making out and with a single disapproving squint sends them scurrying out the door.

“Why do I get the feeling you’ve done this before?” he asks. She pushes him in the room, letting him have his hand back while she closes the door.

“Flash had a stupid party for his stupid birthday last year,” she says, dropping the wine coolers to the edge of the bed and tossing herself across the mattress. “It was stupid.” She bounces a few times on the bed and he grins at her. She grabs the remote from between the two pillows and stretches out. “But I did discover that somebody here buys Lays sour cream and onion chips so here we are.”

He glances down at the bags in his hands and makes a mental note.

“That’s why we’re here?” he asks. "We came to Flash's house to steal a bag of chips." 

She nods. “Also Flash is the only person we know obnoxious enough to pay for both a Netflix and a Hulu subscription so sit down nerd, we’re watching Handmaid’s Tale.”

He walks over and plops down on the mattress next to her, tapping his foot against hers and feeling insanely satisfied when her nose wrinkles. She tosses him the remote and snatches the salsa from him, twisting it open and balancing it in between their knees.

He clicks through the TV options finding not only Hulu and Netflix but also Amazon and about five other streaming services he’s never even heard of.

“You don’t feel weird doing this?” he asks.

“I never feel weird. I am weird,” she replies, popping open the other bag of tortilla chips. “Plus that other, lamer couple was probably gonna have sex in here, so it’s kinda like we’re doing him a favor.”

“Doing Flash a favor. That also feels wrong somehow.” he sighs.

“Sacrifices,” she decides, passing him a handful of chips. She grabs one of the wine coolers, twists off the cap and sits back. “I’m warning you now, I’m a nihilistic drunk.”

“Nihilistic,” he repeats, glancing over at her. She shrugs and offers him a bottle. He considers it for a moment. “I wonder what kinda drunk I am.”

“Who knows? Probably still an idiot though,” she says. “So you’ve never gotten tipsy before, dweeb? Am I peer pressuring you right now?”

He raises his eyebrow and she shoves at his shoulder. “Aunt May gave me a beer once but I don’t really get invited to parties so no, not really,” he says.

“What and you think I get invited to parties?” she says. “I have half our school convinced I’m a ghost.”

“Well you always go to these parties,” he says. “Ned and I usually don’t even hear about them until the Monday after.”

“Yeah, cause you’re dumb. I eavesdrop on the right conversations, invite myself and now here we are, snacks, alcohol and a Hulu subscription,” she explains. “It’s all about being observant, nerd. It gets you everywhere.”

He loads up the first episode and leans against the excessive amounts of pillows. She kicks her feet up into his lap, and he rests his head on her shoulder.

“So this is what you do at parties?” he asks, glancing up at her.

“No, this is just the fun part,” she says. “After about an hour or so everybody out there is gonna get blackout drunk and start drama and that’s what my notebook is for.”

“Human condition thesis?” he asks. The thesis is a thing of legend. May has read a draft of the abstract for it, he’s been allowed a five second peek at the outline, Ned has been told the title, but nothing more. She looks momentary proud of him, nodding thoughtfully, pops a chip in her mouth.

“In part,” she answers and turns the volume up.

The other part is probably her insatiable need to know everything and her extreme, almost unreal sleuthing skills. Michelle hears everything from every corner of their school and probably beyond. She blends into crowds, knows things that no one else does and puts the pieces together before anyone else. She’s somehow found a way to read the world.

He smiles at her for a moment, and then for more than a moment and then she elbows him lightly, hides her grin against the edge of the wine cooler.

He takes a sip of his own and it’s burns his throat and it makes him cough a little. Michelle snorts and then rewinds the episode so he can “fully absorb the culture, loser.”

It turns out he’s a clingy drunk. He's not even really drunk, just a little tipsy but it's a weird feeling. He’s wrapped around Michelle, buried into her side, feeling a little giddy and really content at the same time. He rambles a lot of nonsense about how pretty her shoulders are and maybe let’s slip that he wants to propose to her like every other Tuesday.

She rolls her eyes and messes with his hair and pauses the episode, tossing the remote aside.

“Life is meaningless and reality doesn’t exist. Wanna make out anyway?” she says and it makes him laugh harder than he should.

 

She’s managed to convince him to carry everything.

It’s not that hard, he’s totally obsessed with her, over the moon for her, what a nerd. She also reminds him that he was late to two decathlon meetings so far this month because of this lame Spider-Man thing so she might as well reap some benefits.

So he has three tote bags she got from Barnes and Noble for being a frequent customer slung over his shoulders with a cooler and her backpack as they trek uphill.

She scrutinizes the field, studying the people and the tents that are set up on the grass and assesses. She tugs him over to an empty patch far away from everybody who’s already set up, close enough to the tent but not too close.

“Here?” Peter asks, half remembering to act fatigued like a normal albeit sturdy teenager would after lugging all her junk up a hill. It’s a bonafide miracle no one else has figured him out.

She nods once, lets him dump the bags in the grass and sets to work. She’s done this enough times to have her system down to a science. The blanket, the pillows, snacks, her book, and a gallon of bug spray. Peter keeps trying to help until she gives him a look and then he just stands back and watches in awe.

“Are you sure you don’t have any superpowers?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah, mind reading, nerd,” she says and builds a small nest of pillows in the center of the blanket. His nose wrinkles and he grins, hopping over the barrier of bags she’s built around the blanket.

“So Henry IV,” he says slowly, glancing around the park.

“Part one,” she corrects, picks up her book because she has a few minutes to squeeze in a chapter and punches his shin lightly so he’ll sit down.

“There’s two parts?” he asks, eyes wide. “But it’s a play.”

“Technically it’s the sequel to Richard II while part two is almost entirely unrelated to the story,” she explains, and gropes around in her bag to pull out her copy of the play.

“I’m going to have no idea what’s going on,” he decides, glancing at the book suspiciously.

“You suck at English,” she says. “So probably.”

He sighs, pouts in that infuriatingly cute way.

“You’re not a complete idiot though,” she adds. “My annotations are thorough and insightful. You’ll be fine. There’s even a war at the end. Lots of action. No lightsabers, sorry.”

He opens the book cautiously, flips through the pages slowly. “Um, you sound very angry in these,” he says, eyes tracing across her notes.

“Admittedly it’s one of Shakespeare’s duller plays,” she says slowly.

“Oh… wow, that’s violent,” he says, eyes widening. Very, very dull.

“It was a boring few hours and I may have gotten a bit frustrated,” she admits. She was determined to make it through all of Shakespeare’s history plays and it was pretty rough. “Let’s be honest though, when nobody’s going crazy, Shakespeare sucks.”

“Then, um, why are we here?” he asks, leaning into her side.

“We’re supporting underfunded arts programs and getting you cultured,” she says. “As enlightening as Star Wars is-”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” he says, poking her arm. “Please, we have a great thing going here.”

“George Lucas is an asshole,” she says, shrugging. “These are facts. Sorry.”

“You said the same thing about Shakespeare on the way here,” he protests.

“Yeah, but Shakespeare knew he was an asshole,” she says. “Now be quiet, they’re gonna start soon.”

She has many motives for being here right now. One, she does enjoy Shakespeare in the Park even if the man himself is a bit overrated and his worship in academic spheres borders on pretentious elitism. The actors are pretty cool. Two, Peter sucks at English. He’s a genius, but she’s read his essays and yikes. He needs this to absorb something useful and get into college.

Three, every year without fail, she ends up cold at these things and Peter is basically a furnace. She curls into his side and he wraps one arms around her waist, holding the book in his other hand. The play starts and she hooks her leg over his.

He spends half the time whispering questions in her ear as he flips between the book and the action. She points him towards the corresponding notes with an eyeroll that is not fond and she does not snuggle against him and his soft hoodie.

And she definitely doesn’t smile when he kisses the top of her head like a loser. She's just really happy about all the boring political stuff.

 

He's not an Avenger. Technically. Though technically every time there's an Avengers thing he's usually there, but officially he isn't an Avenger.

He does get some benefits.

Every other week or so he finds himself being driven upstate to the Avengers Complex and more often than not Michelle invites herself along. (Ned has come a few times too and geeked out appropriately with him while she’s watched on in critical unenthusiasm.)

This is different though. He's asked to spend the weekend, run some training drills, check out some new stuff in the lab.

It's kind of a big deal.

“Lame,” Michelle says when he tells her, but comes along since there's no decathlon. She claims it's so she can try to corner Black Panther into a conversation or get a good quote from Vision about the future of AI, but he can also totally tell that she checks him out while he's training.

It's also the first time he's slept over at the complex even though he’s had his own room there for a while. It's practically empty, furnished with a full sized bed, a desk and a bookshelf.

“Wow, how are you gonna sleep in a room without all your nerd stuff surrounding you?” Michelle asks, sprawling across the plain white sheets of his bed with her book.

He rolls his eyes and is about to go grab his pajamas when Tony slams the door open.

“Nope,” he says. “Separate rooms. All the way down the hall. No shenanigans.” He points out the door, and Michelle looks up at him slowly, narrowing her eyes. Tony stands his ground which is a feat because that look from Michelle is a lethal combination around their school.

She turns back to her book, lets the room settle into silence while she finishes her chapter, and then she gets up and walks slowly towards the door. Tony gets another considering squint and he gets an eye roll thrown his way, but it’s not the usual annoyance, fond or otherwise. It’s like they’re sharing it, less “I can’t believe you, you absolute nerd” and more “Can you believe this, nerd?”

He does not get emotional about it. He’s fine.

She texts him two hours later with a picture of the last page of her book and a caption that reads, _shenanigans?_ He forgot whether or not he had Chem homework so he closes the textbook and texts her back, _roof ;)_ He grabs a blanket and an extra jacket so she doesn’t steal his, and sets out.

It takes him longer than it should to find the door to the roof, even after he doubles back to ask Karen for directions. The roof itself is huge when he gets up there, quiet and dark and he resigns himself to even more time just trying to find her.

(Because there’s no way she got as lost as he did. She probably has a blueprint of this entire place in her brain already.)

Only he takes two steps and something grabs his ankle and he jumps three feet in the air. He doesn’t scream. Michelle snorts and sits back, pulling her knees up to her chest.

“Really?” he protests, frowning at her as he sits down, crossing his legs.

“That was pitiful, Mr. Superhero,” she replies, shaking her head. He takes her hand either way, interlaces their fingers, and she leans over to kiss his temple.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, peaceful, warm silence. The trees creak and literal crickets chirp.

“It’s too quiet,” Michelle decides, frowning, glaring at the distant trees. He nudges into her side, shaking his head, and then drops back, laying down on the uncomfortable cement.

“You can see so many stars though,” he says. It’s strange looking up and not seeing the black void of the city’s sky.

“Is that what those things are?” she asks, dryly.

It reminds him of the times he and Ned have made the trek to the Hayden planetarium, of all the charts in astronomy books he’s studied carefully, the astrophysics articles he reads on the train. And there it all is right in front of him.

“I think that’s Ursa Major,” he says, pointing at the sky, scrutinizing the dots for a pattern.

“Oh no, I smell a cliche coming,” she mutters, but lays down next to him anyway. She grunts when her head hits the cement, shifting them both around until she’s resting on his arm.

“Um, that one might be the Big Dipper then,” he continues, moving his arm to map out the sky.

“Which one’s Tatooine?” she asks.

He beams, and it’s dark enough that only the stars see. He feels peaceful and infinite, like the magic every time the lights went out in the theater at the planetarium and the fake sky lit up. Only there’s no narration, just contemplative quiet and Michelle’s slow breathing, their chests rising and falling in tandem.

“I love you,” he says, because he can and because it feels right, like he’s saying it to her but also to the stars and the entire universe.

“I know,” she replies in a fake gruff voice and his heart jumps and he chokes on air. Is it even possibly to fall more in love with her every day? Is he just going to be a pile of sappy mush in a few years, his heart giving out completely every time she looks at him?

It's scary how much she can make him feel, even with something as dumb as a Star Wars reference.

“Peter? Did I break you?” she asks, turning to face him and poking his side. “Peter, you’re my ride home, don’t die.”

“I can’t believe you just said that,” he says, a little breathless, turning to grin at her.

“Did that make all of your nerd fantasies come true?” she asks, smirking at him.

“That was the lamest thing you’ve ever said,” he says, failing to sound teasing. He leans in and kisses her, bringing his free hand up to cup her cheek.

Their kisses linger now, like they’re trying to break the record each time, which she probably is, alternating between heated and languid. It’s peaceful and the night is calm and quiet, and even though she scoffed at him when he called this a vacation, it feels like they’re away from everything else in the world.

“I’ve never said anything lame ever,” she adds, pulling away just barely, tapping him on the nose. “For the record.”

“Of course, what was I thinking?” he replies, resting his forehead against hers.

He’s not sure how long they spend up there because it feels like an endless vacuum of space and time. It’s just the dim light of the stars and her cold hands against his side.

“The stars are really beautiful,” he says and she automatically groans, elbow digging into his side.

“You know what else is beautiful?” she asks, voice croaky from disuse.

“Hey, that’s my line,” he protests.

“John Boyega,” she finishes.

He pulls her closer and hides his grin in her hair.

 

“Move,” she demands, pushing at his shoulder. He slides over an inch and she squints at the pages scattered around the desk. He’s been staring at the papers for a while, the furrow in his brow growing deeper each minute. He started tugging on his hair around three minutes ago and that’s when it became more interesting than her book.

He leans back a little, downs half a water bottle and rubs at his eyes. She’s generally not excited by anything Spider-Man, but she will never pass up a mystery and sometimes crime-fighting comes with a lot of puzzle pieces to fit together.

There's been a string of muggings he's stopped in the past week where each time the mugger has been wearing a green jacket. They know they're somehow related but he can't piece together how or what his next step should be. She’s willing to help him put it all together, for the mystery and for the good of New York and so he can get back to doing his homework before he flunks out of history.

She hums to herself and walks back over to his bed where her books and other stuff are sprawled out.

She returns to the mystery with her pencil case, envisioning a sprawling color-coded collage of information like something from a police precinct or serial killer’s house. She dumps her highlighters and pens on the desk and sits on his lap when he doesn’t give up the desk chair.

He makes some cute- not at all cute, she needs to maintain her edge- spluttering noise, that she ignores while she gets to work.

“So what do we know?” she asks, uncapping her red market with her teeth.

He smiles at her, all dopey, and it’s gross but also sweet but also not helping them solve this mystery. She raises an eyebrow and he starts pointing things out on the page.

She likes mysteries, in both literature and reality, likes the process of ticking off things methodically, taking in all the facts and placing them in order before filling in the blanks.

And working with Peter is easy, she would say fun but she’s been instructed by May to not let his head get too big. He’s smart, even though he’s dumb, and his brain works as fast as hers does. He thinks differently than she does though, sees things that she doesn’t. While she’s much faster and better at solving the mystery, from years of practice, listening to his insights are like taking little shortcuts through her path to the answer.

Plus when she hits a wall, it’s nice to be able to take a break to scold him for chewing on her pen caps or kiss his stupid face.

“We make a good team,” he decides. The information collage takes up half a wall and she scrutinizes it again.

“We aren’t a team,” she says. “Ned’s at the dentist, so we’re a power couple.” He rolls his eyes, throws one of her highlighters in the air and catches it. “Also, quit slacking. I have French homework to get to.”

He gets up off the bed and hugs her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“Five out of the seven in the pattern are within a block of the R train,” he says slowly. “Maybe that has something to with it?”

She turns to grab the pen that’s tucked behind his ear and goes to mark it off, kissing his nose along the way.

It takes them another hour to put it all together and figure out his next step for tomorrow’s patrol. She should do her French homework then, but mysteries require thinking and thinking requires food, so they grab some goldfish from the kitchen and end up making out on the couch until May gets home.

 

“Where are you running off to?” Tony asks, because usually he sticks around after battles like this, hang around with the other Avengers and just generally revel in the awesomeness. But he doesn't have time today.

“Michelle is gonna kill me,” he explains, checking the time on his phone again like if he stares at the number it will maybe make him not late.

“Hot date?” Tony asks.

“Study session,” he explains, scrambling to stuff the suit into his backpack and pull out his change of clothes.

“Hey, careful with that,” Tony says. “That is a feat of engineering.”

“Sorry, Mr. Stark,” he replies, jumping into his jeans. He’ll never admit it, but Michelle scares him more than Tony does.

“It's a Friday night and you're running off to a study session?” He asks. “With your girlfriend.”

“Yeah,” he says, grabbing his shirt. “We have a math test on Tuesday. But we’ll probably rent a movie too. Ned might come over, but he has dinner with his grandma first.”

“Alright,” Tony says. He starts putting his shirt but it's backwards and he curses under his breath. “If you ever need to get out of the doghouse though, I can hook you up at the classiest restaurants in the city.”

“Thanks,” he says, zipping his bag up. “She really likes takeout though and it's her week to pick the place so there's no way she'll let me get out of it.”

“Alright, next time you two go out,” Tony decides and an AI somewhere is probably making a note of it.

“Go… Where?” He asks.

“Out,” Tony repeats. “On a date.”

“A date?”

“Do you have a concussion?”

“No, it's just… I dunno, Michelle and I don't really do… dates, I guess,” he explains, shrugging. Tony's eyebrows furrow.

“You don't go on dates,” he repeats. “With your girlfriend. No going out for dinner?”

“Takeout?” He offers with a shrug. “Sometimes she cooks, well, experiments with food. She watches the Food Network a lot.” She explained once that she wasn't allowed to use the kitchen at home after an incident with an attempted souffle, and also that he and May are great guinea pigs. He's only gotten sick two times.

“Movies?” He asks.

“Not without Ned,” he replies.

“And you're sure you're dating this girl?” Tony asks.

He's pretty sure.

“We went to a party together once,” he offers. Where they got drunk and watched TV and made out for a little while.

“You don't think that's a little weird?” Tony asks.

Well… Yeah, it's weird, unconventional, but Michelle is weird and he loves her. They’ve never been on what would qualify as a conventional date, but they go to the library together and she sleeps over all the time.

Then again, they’ve been going out for three months now. And he hasn’t exactly had a girlfriend before her, so he’s never been on a real date.

“What type of restaurant?” he asks slowly.

Only he’s still late and Michelle is still going to kill him.

“Actually I gotta go,” he says, grabbing his bag and taking off. “Thanks for the offer!”

 

+1.

Michelle doesn’t regret things on principle.  
  
So sitting in this Michelin star restaurant on a Friday night, staring at a menu she only understands because of three years of honors French, she decides not to regret saying yes when Peter asked her out (in order to remain truly unpredictable she had to switch things up at times, and she didn’t realize it was a date, let alone their first date until after when Peter’s shock at her response turned into rambling).

She also doesn’t necessarily regret her clothing choices (a plain sundress with leggings and her favorite hoodie, probably stolen from Peter at some point in the past few months). She didn’t feel like dressing up and Peter has seen her at her worst (two days into the same pair of pajamas over Presidents' Day weekend) so she doesn’t need to impress him.

But he did dress up, a really nice button down and a tie (that does not make his eyes pop, how gross). So she’s a little concerned about what he thinks, and then also her brain is shouting about the patriarchy and sexist beauty standards and some Beyonce song.

There's a reason she's never been on a date before.

They place their orders and she does not shudder at the price of her entree but it’s a near thing. And then there’s silence and it’s awkward. Look, she thrives on awkward, knows the easiest way to take a conversation and make it weird and uncomfortable because you learn a lot about people when they’re squirming.

But this is Peter, first of all, and she’s also feeling awkward which shouldn't be happening. She wants to rest her elbows on the table and slouch but that might get her kicked out.

She downs half of her drink, apple juice in a wine glass that earned her a look from the waiter, and goes back to memorizing the pattern on the tablecloth.

“You can read, you know,” he says, after a short millennium of this oppressive silence. She glances up at him and raises an eyebrow. “You keep opening your bag and not taking anything out, so I know you’re just staring at your book longingly. So, go ahead, I'm cool with just staring at you like a creep for a while.”

He’s not wrong.

“I love you,” she says flatly, because she does, god what a perfect beautiful loser. His face lights up, explodes with a huge beaming smile. “If I take out a book and start reading, the pretentious waiter will definitely spit in our food.”

Peter shrugs, still grinning. “He’s gonna do that anyway for the way I pronounced our appetizers,” he says, which is true.

“That was pretty shameful,” she says. “Loser.”

“Hey,” he protests with a pout. “There was a silent s. How is that even a thing?”

She rolls her eyes, kicks at his foot under the table. She pulls out her book though and then doesn’t tease him for staring at her like a sap the whole time because that's what love is apparently.

She has a lot of opinions about it too, that she shares when the food comes out, in between bites of her lackluster entree.

“No mouth-feel?” he asks.

“Don’t act like a Food Network person when you’re obviously a Science Channel person,” she says.

“The Science Channel is very educational,” he protests.

“And the Food Network is unnecessarily dramatic,” she replies.

She’s not sure why she was weirded out. Yes, she has spent several years staying as far away from the institution of dating because of the inevitable disaster. Yes, half of the restaurant keeps looking at them with judgement when he laughs too loud and when their game of footsie while they were waiting for dessert led to her jostling the entire table. 

But this is still Peter, just Peter in a shirt without a dumb pun. Yet still Peter, retelling the story of May and Ben’s first date with a fond exasperation. Letting her rant about her book and complain about their Chemistry test.

Dating is terrible but Peter is admittedly not terrible and they manage to make it through the dinner. (They don’t even get a check because apparently Tony Stark has already taken care of it and this is weirding her out so much.)

“That was terrible,” she says when the exit the restaurant. She sends their pretentious waiter a squinty glare now that they’re home free and it’s particularly satisfying. (She’s earned the right to mock Peter for his shitty attempt at French and this asshole has not.)

“The dessert was pretty great though,” he offers, taking her hand and swinging it lightly between them.

“Next time your boss wants to fund our relationship, we go all in, straight to dessert,” she decides.

“May won’t let me eat dessert for dinner,” he says.

“Nerd,” she replies, bumping into his side. “We’ll get nachos afterwards. Invite Ned for a movie.”

He nods, squeezes her hand. “Ned’ll be pissed if we don’t bring him some dessert though.”

“Well, then he can come with us and I’ll mock both of you for your terrible French,” she says.

“It won’t be much of a date.”

“Dates are overrated,” she says. Though it is kinda cute when he walks her to her front door and kisses her cheek.

And by that she means, not cute at all, she doesn’t smile at her ceiling for a few minutes afterwards. She just finishes her book and goes to sleep and doesn't think about his stupid cute face.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again for reading!! As always I love constructive criticism and hearing about how I'm doing. Also feel free to send me prompts. I've gotten a few really cool suggestions for stories to write that i'll hopefully be able to get around to before school starts up. You can find me on tumblr @applejuiz!


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